


Puppy Love

by Reioka



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dogs, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Dog Shows, Mentions of Surfing Dogs, Slow Burn, Tony kind of does it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/pseuds/Reioka
Summary: Bucky is learning to become a person again. When some guy starts crying all over Natasha's dog, he decides he's doing better than he originally thought.





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowsintheClouds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsintheClouds/gifts).



> The prompt was "Bucky and Tony meet at a dog park" and I... ran with it.

Puppy Love

 

Bucky still wasn’t entirely sure why he had a dog.

 

He knew  _ how _ , of course. He’d been bunking with Clint while he’d been getting back on his feet, and one day Clint had returned from walking Lucky with what was, perhaps, the ugliest dog that Bucky had ever seen.

 

“One of my tenants is in poor health and her family is finally moving her to a facility,” Clint had said as the dog (rat?) had laid down in Lucky’s bed, looking more morose than a small dog stealing a larger dog’s bed had any right to. “She’s so far gone that the facility doesn’t accept dogs, and none of her family has room, so we’re watching the dog while her family moves her out and tries to rehome him.”

 

“This is a rat,” Bucky had insisted.

 

“His name’s Barry because Mrs. Garcia loved Barry Manilow,” Clint had continued, ignoring him.

 

Bucky had woken up the next morning to find Barry tucked carefully up in his armpit, and that had sort of been that.

 

So he knew how it had happened. He just wasn’t sure why the thing had chosen  _ him _ , when he’d been jumpy and anxious and missing an arm. He’d been the opposite of what a dog should have found comforting.

 

But Barry had claimed him, and Bucky couldn’t argue, so. He had a dog now.

 

He was pretty ugly, all things considered. He had no hair except for a little mohawk on his head, and socks on his feet, and a tuft on his tail. His skin was dark, and soft to the touch, so that was nice. He was missing some teeth, but the internet said that was normal, as long as the vet kept an eye on them.

 

Bucky supposed that Barry had even helped him in his recovery, maybe. He’d hit a wall, morose and stagnating in his physical therapy, and then Clint had said, “Barry will probably get cold in the winter without any hair,” and Bucky had finally taken up his therapists’ suggestions to do something with his hands to get him used to his prosthetic. He’d asked the ladies he’d seen knitting at the coffee shop how hard it would be to learn, and a month later he’d finished a sweater the perfect size for Barry.

 

“Hate to see you go, man,” Clint had said when Bucky finally moved out. “Except not really. I want my couch back.”

 

Now Bucky had his own apartment, and a dog, and a part-time job, and a hobby that he could make money off of (apparently a lot of people liked buying sweaters for dogs, and he was getting pretty good at doing fun designs on them). It was a good life, all things considered. He’d never really thought he’d ever be able to be a real person again, so it was somewhat a pleasant surprise that he did.

 

Which probably made it irrational to react to Natasha’s gentle suggestion of getting out more by slamming the door in her face.

 

“You still have my key,” her muffled voice said.

 

Bucky considered trying to shove her key under the door, except she was the one who had gotten him the place so he knew it was secure, which meant nothing thicker than a folded sheet of paper could be shoved under the door, and then she’d just use it to get back inside and kick his ass. He sighed and opened the door again mulishly.

 

“Listen, it was just a suggestion,” Natasha said as soon as she got a foot in.

 

Bucky considered slamming the door on her foot, except then she might actually murder him. “Okay.”

 

“I’m glad you’re finally back on your feet,” she added gently. “Lord knows how hard it was for you when you came back. But you could stand to go out at least once every few weeks for something that isn’t your job.”

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky ground out as he watched her pick up his key ring to take her copy of his key from it. He’d promised her his spare in case of emergencies. He was sort of regretting that decision.

 

Natasha spared him one short, derisive look before going back to struggling with the key ring. “Yeah, but you could be better than fine, is what I’m saying.”

 

Bucky sighed, frustrated, but he wasn’t sure whether that frustration was with her or himself. “Fine is… fine. Fine is good for me. I never expected to be fine ever again.”

 

“And now you are,” Natasha pointed out, not looking at him. “So you could possibly also be better than fine.”

 

“Do you need help,” Bucky asked, instead of acknowledging her, because he didn’t want to think or hope about something better than fine right now.

 

Natasha turned to give him a glare before looking back at the keys in her hand. “I’ve got it.”

 

“I use a staple remover to hold the key ring open,” Bucky offered, turning to walk into the kitchen. “It’s in the junk drawer.”  He said nothing when he heard the drawer rattle. Instead he opened the refrigerator and stared into it. Leftover Chinese, leftover tacos, and leftover pizza. He chose the leftover pizza because the tacos were probably soggy and he’d had the Chinese for dinner last night.  He turned from the refrigerator to find Natasha had left his keys and the staple remover on the counter and was currently giving Barry a very thorough belly rub. “You spoil him.”

 

“Oh, yeah, you know me, never giving any other dog a belly rub, just Barry,” Natasha deadpanned. “Also? You hand-knit him sweaters. Shut the fuck up.”

 

Bucky shrugged, conceding. He  _ did _ knit Barry a new sweater every month. Most of them were experiments, but Barry always needed new sweaters for the bitterly cold New York winters, so even if they turned out ugly he still used them. Barry wore them hard.

 

“Hey, there’s an idea,” Natasha said thoughtfully. She turned toward him only enough to be able to meet his eyes so she could continue rubbing Barry’s belly. “Steve and I go to the dog park every Saturday. You could come with us.”

 

Bucky considered it for approximately three seconds before he replied, “No.”

 

“It would be good for Barry to run around sometimes instead of just being taken on walks,” Natasha pointed out, and then lifted her hands placatingly before he could respond. “Just think about it, is all I’m saying. I’m gonna head out. Chewie is probably barfing everywhere as we speak.”

 

“Maybe if you’d train your boyfriend to stop folding like a cheap suit when your dog gives him puppy eyes for treats,” Bucky teased, smirking after her.

 

Natasha paused only long enough to wiggle her eyebrows at him. “Except then he’d be immune to  _ my _ puppy eyes when I beg him for ice cream. And other things.”

 

“You’ve never had to beg for ‘other things’ in your life!” Bucky hollered over the sound of the door slamming shut and her giggling. He couldn’t help a smile even as he sighed in exasperation.

 

Natasha was one of his best friends, and she cared about him a lot. She just sometimes didn’t know how to show it unless she was bullying him ‘for his own good.’ He wondered if he really needed to go out more. His therapist had been more than pleased with him when he’d finally moved out of Clint’s apartment, and hadn’t mentioned any next steps, but then, they could both be riding the high of his first big step back to independence. Maybe he really did need to do more than work, take Barry out to pee, and knit while binging murder mysteries.

 

Well, that was a problem to consider later. Right now he needed to take a shower, cuddle with Barry on the couch, and start work on a few dog sweaters that he’d been commissioned by a coworker to do.

 

.-.-.-.

 

“I haven’t seen this much sunscreen since I took Steve and Mrs. Rogers to the beach,” Natasha admitted.

 

Bucky did not look up from slathering his dog in baby sunscreen. “He burns.”

 

“I’m just saying, it’s okay to use a little less sunscreen,” she said.

 

“I accidentally gave him a sunburn once and wanted to die,” Bucky declared. “It will never happen again. He was so sad. He cried all the time.”

 

“Are you talking about Barry or Steve?” Natasha asked, and then yelped and ducked the pinch Steve tried to give her on her side.

 

Steve wrinkled his nose at her. “Haha, your Irish boyfriend and his mom burn like lobsters, so funny. I’m telling Ma you made fun of us.”

 

“I’ve seen you guys put on sunscreen,” Bucky cut in. “It’s a lot. Your ma also carries an umbrella.”

 

Steve tried to look betrayed, but he was also sneaking a little bit of the sunscreen to put across his nose, so it didn’t really work. “Jerk.”

 

Bucky blew a raspberry at him, unconcerned. “Your dog’s cornered a Great Dane.”

 

“Mochi!” Steve barked, and ran over to pick his dog up. “Next time I’ll just let the big dogs step on you, you asshole!”

 

“He’d deserve it,” Natasha mumbled under her breath.

 

“Oh, did he back Chewie into a corner again?” Bucky asked, amused.

 

Natasha sighed, put upon. “Yeah. I really can’t wait for the day when Chewie realizes he has at least a hundred pounds on the little runt. Mochi will  _ rue _ the day that happens, I assure you.”

 

“If Mochi is anything like Steve, he will rue exactly zero things,” Bucky sighed back at her. He frowned down at Barry, who was standing serenely between his legs. “I suppose you’re lathered adequately, then. Go on. Go run. Go play.”

 

Barry blinked at him slowly before turning in a circle three times and then lying down between his legs, back delicately pressed against Bucky’s knee.

 

“Natasha, I’m going to burn down your house,” Bucky said.

 

“I don’t own a house and it’s not my fault Barry’s so attached to you,” Natasha replied immediately. She got down on her hands and knees, pushing at the dog gently. “Come on, Barry! Let’s go play! —It’s because he knows you don’t want to be here,” she accused, poking Bucky’s cheek. “Work with me here! Help me show him how fun this can be!”

 

“Why would I do that when I don’t want to be here,” Bucky deadpanned.

 

Natasha glared at him and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, she was bowled over by Chewie, who promptly dropped a wet rope toy on her head, knot bouncing off her forehead. “Ow!”

 

“Where did you even get this,” Bucky asked, picking up the toy and flinging it away from them.

 

Chewie barreled after it, taking out Mochi and another small dog on the way.

 

“Oops,” Bucky said as the two smaller dogs began chasing him.

 

But Barry got up and walked after them, so he guessed it was okay, probably. Nobody looked hurt, anyway.

 

Natasha sat up and reached into her bag to pull out a water bottle. “See?” she said, looking incredibly smug for someone who had just been laid out by her own dog. “It’s good for him. And! Once you get to know everyone else, it’ll probably be good for you, too!”

 

“Your boyfriend has cornered a person,” Bucky said, not giving her the satisfaction of admitting she might even possibly be right.

 

“Steve!” Natasha barked, and ran over to pull him away before Steve and the guy he was talking to came to blows over picking up dog poop.

 

Well, Bucky had to admit that nothing on Netflix would have been quite as entertaining as watching Natasha going over to restrain Steve only for him to have to restrain her as she basically foamed at the mouth when the guy called her dog ugly.

 

.-.-.-.

 

It became a thing. Bucky showed up at the dog park at the same time as Steve and Natasha, lathered his dog up with sunscreen, and then followed Barry around, occasionally talking with other dog owners. It wasn’t… great, but it also wasn’t as terrible as he’d imagined.

 

He was running late today, though. His therapy session had run over because his therapist had been telling him how proud she was of all his hard work, especially with the decision to take it upon himself to go out to the dog park without running it past her. Said it ‘really showed how far he’d come’ in his independence. Bucky had been too pleased and embarrassed to leave for a while, and she’d kindly allowed him to compose himself in her office.

 

He was here now, though, and he was pretty excited to tell Steve and Natasha what his therapist had said. He carried Barry in through the gate and glanced around to take stock of what he could expect.

 

There was a chocolate Labrador bounding about, so Wanda was here, which meant he could listen to her complain about not being taken seriously by the rest of the faculty at the college she worked at because she was in the “soft sciences,” which he quite enjoyed, usually. A rat terrier was currently rolling around with Mochi, so a woman named Janet was probably nearby, tapping on her phone and talking a mile a minute to whoever was unlucky enough to be nearby—or if not her, then her boyfriend, making sure the hyperactive little dog got all its energy out. Bucky moved aside to let a pitbull limp past him; Tripod’s owner Vision would be around somewhere, perhaps talking to Wanda.

 

There was also a standard poodle hovering close to Steve and Natasha, which meant someone new had come to the dog park. He knew this, because he’d never seen a standard poodle there himself, and he’d also never heard Steve and Natasha talk about one, and they talked about  _ all _ of the dogs they met at the dog park. Bucky glanced around but didn’t see anyone; only Chewie sitting patiently at Natasha’s feet, mouth open in a big grin.

 

“You named your dog ‘Chewbarka,’” a voice sobbed, and Bucky realized with a jolt that there were hands buried in the cords of Chewie’s fur. “I love him.”

 

Bucky hadn’t realized he’d come to a stop and was staring until Steve caught his eye, smiled ruefully, and said, “We made some new friends today.”

 

“Uh huh,” Bucky replied, at a loss for anything else. There was a man crying into Chewie’s dreadlocks. He wasn’t really sure what else he could say.

 

In his loss, he decided to do what he’d normally do; he sat down, put Barry down between his legs, and began lathering him up with sunscreen. He considered Chewie and the person apparently clinging to him, then turned his eyes on the standard poodle hovering nearby, looking happy and concerned in turns. It must belong to the person hugging Chewie and crying. Looked a little nervous.

 

Bucky frowned at it suspiciously. He’d never actually seen a poodle with a lion cut in real life, and it was just as freakishly intimidating as he’d always imagined.

 

“Okay, buddy,” Steve said gently, reaching toward the human part of the human-dog sandwich. “Time to let Chewie go and play with his friends!”

 

“I love him,” the man sobbed again, but let himself be pulled up like a small child.

 

Bucky squeezed the bottle of sunscreen a little too tightly and shot himself in the face. He barely noticed though, because… because the man turned out to be  _ absolutely breathtaking _ .

 

It was truly unfair that a man with swollen red eyes and tear tracks on his face was so incredibly handsome, with those sharp cheekbones and dashing facial hair. He was wearing clothes that were entirely too nice for a dog park, too, and—was that a suit jacket? With the sleeves rolled up? Who rolled up sleeves on suit jackets? And who wore shirts with cats on them under suit jackets?

 

The man in front of him did, and he was goddamn adorable.

 

“There, there,” Steve said, patting him on the back as the man instead lunged to hug him.

 

Natasha sidled over to Bucky. “He’s a marshmallow,” she breathed, slightly wild-eyed.

 

“Hng,” Bucky replied.

 

“We must protect him,” she added.

 

Bucky couldn’t even manage a grunt, because the man was currently wiping his nose on his jacket and sniffling softly, and Bucky just kinda wanted to… eat him alive. Or pinch his cheeks. It was a toss up.

 

“...Well it’s nice to know that that part of you still works,” Natasha said snidely. She left whether she meant his heart or libido up in the air.

 

“This is Tony,” Steve said, gently leading the man over to them. “He loves dogs.” He nodded at the poodle, who was delicately licking Tony’s hand. “And this is his dog, Marie.”

 

“Curie,” Tony corrected with a sniffle. “Her name is Marie Curie.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Marie Curie.”

 

“She’s… sure somethin’,” Bucky managed, because Tony still looked fragile and he didn’t want to make him cry again by telling him she looked intimidating. It’s not like he could talk, anyway. Barry was pretty ugly, and that could be intimidating in its own way.

 

Natasha glanced back and forth between them before rolling her eyes, looking as if there was no one in the world more put upon than she was at this very moment. “This is Bucky,” she added, smacking the back of her hand against his shoulder.

 

Bucky at least had the pleasure of knowing she’d knocked her knuckles against his prosthetic and it probably hurt more than she would ever let on. “And this is Barry,” he added, motioning between his legs.

 

Tony was silent for quite some time before looking up at Steve, brows furrowed together in… concern? Befuddlement?

 

“ _ That’s _ Barry,” Steve offered, pointing not between Bucky’s legs, but at Marie Curie, who was nose to nose with the little Chinese crested dog and wagging her tail slowly, considering.

 

Bucky stared at them, betrayed. “Barry, how could you do this to me. After the breakthrough we had today.”

 

Barry did not even dignify him with a response, instead trotting off to go play with Chewie.

 

“The disrespect,” Bucky said mulishly.

 

Marie Curie came over and delicately laid her head on his knee, looking up at him with big, soulful brown eyes.

 

“Well, you’re alright, I guess,” Bucky told her.

 

And that was all it apparently took to get in Tony’s good graces.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Tony had come to the dog park because Janet (‘Jan,’ Tony had called her, or ‘sweetie pie,’ or ‘pudding-pop,’ but never Janet) had promised to be there to help show him the ropes, having immediately forgotten an appointment she’d made with another fashion designer. Tony and Jan’s boyfriend, Hank, got along well enough, but not enough that Hank would help him navigate the dog park. Steve and Natasha had seen Tony and Marie Curie just before Mochi had and so Steve had scooped him up before the little runt could be mean to her. Steve had told Tony how rude his dog was, Tony had looked confused, and then he’d seen Chewie.

 

Bucky was pretty sure that Tony was at least a little in love with Chewie, evidenced by Tony happily chirping, “Mop!” every time Chewie went charging by them.

 

“I started coming here after Natasha bullied me,” Bucky said when Tony stared at him expectantly. “Barry’s actually super low-key and I’m ninety percent sure that he doesn’t need to go bounding about like the rest of these high-energy dogs.”

 

Tony watched Barry walk over to Marie Curie, turn around three times, and lie down in the poodle’s shade. “You might be right.”

 

Marie Curie looked down at Barry before looking back at Tony, appearing concerned.

 

“Didn’t I tell you?” Tony crowed proudly. “I said we’d make some new friends today, and we did! We met Steve and Natasha and Bucky and their dogs, and Natasha said we could visit sometime so you could get really acquainted with Chewbarka! And Mochi too I guess, but Steve said you don’t have to be friends with Mochi. Mochi’s a bully.”

 

“He is,” Bucky confirmed. “But he’s also fiercely loyal. He bullies Chewie around a lot at home but if someone starts givin’ Chewie the business he’s the first one to defend him. He kinda takes after Steve.”

 

“Steve couldn’t hurt a fly,” Tony declared, sounding quite sure of himself.

 

Bucky glanced over at Steve, who was six-foot-two and built like a brick house. He had once seen Steve pick up a creep by the belt and dump him head-first into a trash can. ‘Trash people belong in trash cans,’ he’d said, and hadn’t been sorry for a moment. “Sure,” he said finally. If Tony was going to be their friend, he would find out about Steve himself.

 

“...I’ve never seen a poodle with an actual… lion cut before,” Bucky admitted after a lull in the conversation, and perhaps was a little irrationally worried that he might hurt Marie Curie’s feelings. She still looked nervous sometimes. Luckily she did not seem perturbed by his statement.

 

“Oh, yeah, we had a show a couple days ago,” Tony said, shrugging. “I’m a fan of the cut, personally, but it gets hot around this time. I haven’t had a chance to shave her down to her summer coat. I was gonna do it today, but I was running late to meet Jan, so…”

 

Bucky nearly choked on his tongue. “Marie Curie’s an actual show dog?!”

 

Tony blinked at him in surprise. “Yes? My mom got me into it. She used to breed Airedales. Airedales are too stubborn for me, though. Herding dogs, you know.”

 

Bucky watched Barry give Marie Curie an incredibly offended look when she walked away, shadow moving off of him. “I do not.”

 

“Well, take it from me,” Tony said, shrugging ruefully. “Herding dogs are very stubborn. Poodles, they’re—well, they’re stubborn, but stubborn in a different way,” he added thoughtfully. “Sometimes they’ll act up, but I’ve found that exercising them regularly and giving them toys that make them problem-solve helps. They’re very smart dogs, so they get bored really easily. I’ve been training her to go surfing with me when we’re in California and she loves it!”

 

Bucky turned to stare at Tony, agape. “Excuse me. Did you just say you’ve been training your dog to surf?”

 

Tony was quiet for a long moment before cautiously answering, “Yes?”

 

Bucky had nothing to say, too enthralled with the idea of first, Tony in a skin-tight wetsuit and second, Tony and a giant poodle on a surfboard. He focused on the second idea more, deciding that the first would be ruminated on when he was in the privacy of his own home.

 

“You could teach your dog to surf, probably,” Tony said after a moment. “I’ve seen Chinese crested dogs at the competitions in Florida.”

 

“Hold on,” Bucky said, holding his hand up. “Rewind. Say that again. You’ve seen Chinese crested dogs at  _ what? _ ”

 

“Competitions,” Tony repeated, and then happily chirped ‘mop!’ again when Chewie went bulldozing by to greet Thor and his positively tiny Pomeranian.

 

Bucky just had to… take a moment. Sit there and think. Tony had a show dog. Tony had brought his show dog to the dog park so that they could make new friends. Tony and his show dog apparently also competed in surfing competitions.

 

“Are you real?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask.

 

Tony turned to blink at him again. “Yeah? I mean I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

 

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to bring your show dog here with a bunch of unknown dogs?” Bucky asked, frowning. “Couldn’t she get hurt?”

 

“I mean… She could, yeah? But she could also get hurt at home with my parents’ dogs, or during transport to competitions. I’m not gonna isolate her just because she fits the regulated proportions for a standard poodle,” Tony said, frowning. “First and foremost, she’s a dog. She just also happens to be a dog that judges find aesthetically pleasing. Between you and me, she’ll probably never win Westminster, but the competitions are fun and oh my God.”

 

Bucky whipped around just in time to watch Marie Curie get tripped by Mochi as Mochi went chasing after Thor’s Pomeranian and fall ass over tea kettle with a yelp, where she lay in complete befuddlement for several seconds. “Jesus.”

 

“He’s like… five pounds,” Tony said in disbelief.

 

“He’s eleven and a half,” Bucky corrected. “I know this because one time he leapt into Steve’s lap and landed feet-first directly on his junk.”

 

Tony looked horrified but also intrigued. Mostly horrified. “One time Marie Curie headbutted me too hard in the nuts and I thought I would die. I can’t imagine eleven and a half pounds of furry jerk landing square on them.”

 

“I thought I knew all the swears until it happened,” Bucky admitted. “I’m pretty sure he made some new ones up on the spot.”

 

Tony turned his gaze on Steve in awe. Luckily Steve didn’t notice. Bucky didn’t want to be there when Steve found out that he’d told Tony about That Incident. His face still went dark whenever Nat even thought about mentioning it.

 

“It’s not like my dog’s the only show dog here, anyway,” Tony added breathlessly, as if to keep the conversation going so he didn’t have to think about Steve or swearing or anything else about what he’d just learned. “Jan’s dog has won three times in agility and twice in rally.”

 

Bucky sincerely wished he hadn’t been taking a sip of water as he said that, because he spewed it back out immediately, and it was quite embarrassing and not at all impressive. And he wanted to impress Tony. Perhaps more than he probably should.

 

“Don’t worry. She gets that reaction a lot,” Tony told him helpfully.

 

“Yeah, I bet,” Bucky said weakly. He’d once watched Janet’s dog run headlong into the fence. It didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Autumn came, and with it, crisper weather—the sun was out but it felt like it was shining through water, and the breeze was always bitter in the Fall. Bucky’s shoulder ached a lot around this time, but it was more manageable than during the winter; he could still wear his prosthetic okay. It helped that Barry would curl up by his shoulder at night and warm it with his little body, so it didn’t hurt as much as it used to, before he’d gotten a dog.

 

Bucky didn’t think about the weather much beyond that until he got to the dog park and Tony let out a squeaky wounded noise and clutched at his chest, eyes going all warm and dewy. “What?” he asked in alarm, looking around the park.

 

Had Sharon come with her Yorkie? Tiny dogs always made Tony emotional, or dogs with nerdy names. Sharon had double-whammied him by naming her dog ‘Scully.’ Thor’s Pomeranian was also a contender, because the dog was tiny and Thor was big and Tony had about fainted dead away when Thor had held the little dog in his hands. He saw neither animal. He also didn’t see Natasha, Steve, and their dogs, and remembered belatedly that they’d offered to house-sit for Sam and it added an extra fifteen minutes to their commute.

 

Bucky stared as Tony got down on his knees and wrapped his arms around Barry. “What are you—”

 

“He’s wearing a sweater,” Tony squeaked tearfully. “I love him.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, surprised. That was right. Tony had never seen Barry wearing a sweater before. “I have shoes for him too, when it snows.”

 

Tony let out a little sob. “Oh my God, and he has shoes.”

 

“Sorry we’re late, one of the other tenants at Sam’s place was being WHY is Tony crying NOW,” Natasha asked, coming to an abrupt stop, so Chewie walked into her and knocked her over. “Ow!”

 

“Aw,” Steve said, amused, even as he reached down to help her back up. “Is this his first time seeing Barry in a sweater?”

 

“I love him,” Tony sobbed again.

 

Natasha looked extremely put out. “Well,” she said reluctantly. “I guess that’s a normal reaction to a dog in a sweater.”

 

“It absolutely is not,” Bucky said, appalled, because people had said ‘aw’ over Barry’s sweaters but they’d never broken down in overwhelmed tears before.

 

“Did you tell him about Barry’s shoes?” Steve asked.

 

“He has shoes,” Tony sobbed.

 

Bucky looked at Marie Curie, who was watching the scene with some concern, much like she had when Tony had hugged Chewie and cried. “Did he ever cry over you like he cries over other dogs,” he asked, and then felt stupid, because what was she going to say?

 

She turned her attention to Bucky, still appearing concerned, before loping off to chase after Mochi. Bucky stared after her. Nobody respected him at this stupid dog park.

 

They eventually untangled Tony from Barry, but it took some doing.

 

“The sweater has paw prints on it!” Tony wailed.

 

Bucky used his foot to tap Barry into movement, and Barry gamely trotted over to play tug-of-war with a rope toy against Mochi. “Sure does.”

 

“Bucky made it himself,” Steve said proudly, clapping Bucky on the back.

 

Tony turned wide, wet eyes on him. “You did?”

 

Bucky wondered if this was a point in his favor or not. Lots of people thought it was neat that he knitted, but he’d also had several people call him a fag if he knitted in public. “Yes,” he answered finally, deciding that this would be the make-or-break of their friendship. “I started knitting in therapy and have been making Barry sweaters ever since.”

 

“You made paw prints on his sweater,” Tony said, voice small with wonder. “You’re amazing, Bucky.”

 

Bucky stared at him, speechless. He figured that was an acceptable response though, because Tony was still staring up at him in awe, so much so that Steve and Natasha awkwardly shuffled off, like they were witnessing something they shouldn’t.

 

“It’s ‘cause he’s naked,” Bucky blurted out, and then wanted to die.

 

“That makes sense,” Tony said, and wiped his eyes on his jacket. “He probably gets really cold in the winter.”

 

Bucky looked at Marie Curie, who was just beginning to look more like a fuzzball than a naked poodle. “Do you want one?” he asked, before he could think too much about it.

 

Tony’s eyes went big and shiny again. “Really? You’d make a sweater for Marie Curie?”

 

“Don’t cry,” Bucky said immediately. “I’ll make a sweater if you don’t cry.”

 

Tony took a big, wet breath, and even though he looked weepy, he did not let a single tear fall. “Can it be yellow?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky said, and then kept watching Tony’s face.

 

Tony eventually stopped looking a moment away from sobbing, and only then did Bucky relax and ask if yellow was his only request.

 

.-.-.-.

 

By the time Bucky finished the sweater (Marie Curie was much larger than the dogs he typically knitted for), it was winter, and Bucky’s shoulder ached like hell even with a hot water bottle  _ and _ Barry curled around it. The last ten rows had been a real struggle. But he’d finished the sweater.

 

He just didn’t think he could stand out in the cold long enough to give it to them.

 

_ “I can take it for you,” _ Natasha offered gently when he called her to tell her he wouldn’t be making it to the dog park this week—or any other week until it thawed, probably.

 

Bucky said nothing, because he knew he should let her. He knew it was unfair to hold onto it after he’d made it specifically for Tony. It’s not like it would do him any good next year, when she’d gotten a decent grow-out and was being groomed for shows. It made sense to give the sweater to him now, when it would do the most good.

 

But he’d… he’d really wanted to see Tony’s face when he gave it to him, when he saw that he’d added little radiation symbols in the trim of the pattern. He wanted to see Tony’s face when he saw that it fit Marie Curie perfectly, because he’d checked again and again throughout the process of making it. He wanted to see how Tony liked it.

 

He wanted to receive Tony’s thanks from him, not passed on through Natasha.

 

_ “You have it bad,” _ Natasha teased, just a touch sadly.  _ “Well, think about what you want to do then.” _

 

“I’m getting really tired of you telling me to think about things,” Bucky admitted after a moment. “I already have a therapist.”

 

Natasha was quiet, considering, before she replied,  _ “I can see that. Okay.” _

 

“I’ll let you know what I decide,” Bucky said, and then, “Thanks, you know. For everything.”

 

_ “What else are friends for?” _ Natasha scoffed.  _ “Anyway I hope this is a good time to tell you that I ate all your donuts trying to sober up last night.” _

 

Bucky was silent, stunned, before crying out, “There were eight donuts!”

 

_ “I was super drunk,” _ Natasha reasoned.  _ “I sent you money on the cash app.” _

 

“Ate all my goddamn donuts,” Bucky grumbled. Those were going to be his breakfast for the next couple days. “If it’s not you telling me to think, it’s you eating all my food.”

 

_ “I paid you back,” _ Natasha said, and then,  _ “Oh, no, looks like I have to hang up immediately to get ready for the dog park. Bye.” _

 

“Natasha!” Bucky barked, but he heard the tone of her hanging up on him. He held his phone out to glare at it and hoped she could sense it. She knew everything. She’d know he was glaring.

 

Barry padded over to him and looked up with his big, brown eyes.

 

Bucky sighed, setting his phone aside so he could scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Sorry, bud. I hurt too much to go to the dog park today. I wish we could. I know you made friends with the other dogs.”

 

Barry’s tail wagged, and when Bucky scooped him up, he lifted his head to swipe at his cheek with his tongue.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky said softly, and leaned in to press their foreheads together. “Good boy.”

 

He carried Barry over to the couch and settled down on it with him. His shoulder hurt. He could worry about the sweater for Marie Curie later. Right now he just wanted to cuddle on the couch with Barry, watching murder mysteries and maybe perfecting his one-handed knitting. He was getting pretty good at it.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Bucky was disturbed from watching a beautifully dressed woman being robbed of a painting by a knock on the door. He considered ignoring it, enthralled, but he’d just gotten new neighbors and he’d foolishly told them not to hesitate to ask for help, because his parents had raised a polite young man. Unfortunately, they were taking him up on it. At least their troubles were usually real and easy to fix, like the landlord’s emergency number, or which convenience stores were best nearby, or where to hit the radiator with a wrench to get it to stop stuttering until the building’s handyman came to bleed them. He paused the show. He hoped this would be another easy fix.

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, surprised, when he opened the door to find Tony, holding a box from the fancy donut shop down the street that Bucky couldn’t afford, Marie Curie’s leash roped loosely around his wrist. He stared, surprised, then jerked and managed to blurt out an inelegant, “Hi.”

 

He remembered, with a sinking feeling, that he hadn’t put his prosthetic on, planning to just loaf on the couch all day. He remembered because Tony was staring at the arm of his shirt, which was pinned up and out of his way. He realized suddenly that Tony had never mentioned his arm before, probably always too busy watching the dogs at the dog park to notice his arm was just a little too stiff to be normal.

 

Bucky wanted to slam the door in Tony’s face and never talk to him again.

 

But then Tony thrust the box of donuts out to him and blurted, “Natasha said you’d finished Marie Curie’s sweater. She said you’d let me in if I brought you donuts. I didn’t know what kind you liked so I bought a dozen!”

 

“You—you didn’t need to bring me donuts to let you inside,” Bucky choked out, too shocked to say anything else. “What am I going to do with a dozen donuts?”

 

“Well, it’s ten now,” Tony said sheepishly. “Your neighbor said you give them your leftovers so I let him take a couple for him and his aunt.”

 

Bucky stared, bewildered. “He said I do what?”

 

Tony was confused for a fraction of a second, then stricken. “Oh. Oh that was a fib. I—I can go get you two more donuts! I—”

 

“Don’t get me two more donuts,” Bucky said hastily, grabbing Tony’s arm and dragging him into the apartment before he could do something foolish, like go try to retrieve the donuts from his neighbors, or worse—actually go back down the street and buy him more. Both Tony and Marie Curie yelped and trampled all over his feet. “I’ll remember this, Parkers!” he shouted into hallway.

 

There was a pause, and then a shouted, “Peter, you told me Mr. Barnes  _ gave these to you! _ ”

 

“HA,” Bucky barked, and then slammed the door shut before May Parker could come flying out with apologies for stealing the donuts and some lethal side-eye for making fun of a teenager getting in trouble.

 

He turned and nearly snorted when he found Tony and Marie Curie standing awkwardly in the middle of his apartment, looking around worriedly, as if afraid they might break something. He’d heard that dogs and their humans eventually came to resemble each other, and it was true here, seeing the concern on both of their faces.

 

“You can just—here, let me—” Bucky began, rushing over to clear a spot off on his counter. It was covered with junk mail and a couple of old pizza boxes. It seemed sacrilegious to set the donuts on top of them when they were so expensive. “You can just set those down here.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said, and set the box down gently, as if it might explode if he didn’t. Or that the counter might swallow it up.

 

Bucky couldn’t really blame him. His apartment wasn’t really in order for guests.

 

“Sorry,” Tony added softly. “I—Looking back, I should have texted to see if it was okay first. I just—Natasha said it was okay, and I got so excited… I’m sorry.”

 

Bucky reached out to put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. I wouldn’t have answered the door if I wasn’t ready for company.”

 

“Is it okay that I brought Marie Curie?” Tony asked nervously. “We came straight from the dog park. I didn’t think to ask if—”

 

“I’m sure that Marie Curie is much better behaved than Mochi,” Bucky offered. He motioned to the key rack on the wall which held Barry’s leash. “It’s fine.”

 

As if to prove it, once Marie Curie was unclipped from her leash, she walked over to the living area, turned in a neat circle, and then laid down on the floor, looking up at them with her big brown eyes, tail waving proudly.

 

“Polite dog,” Bucky said, somewhat surprised that she hadn’t curled up on the couch with Barry. They liked to lie together a lot at the dog park.

 

“She’s not allowed on the couch at home,” Tony offered, fidgeting. “She has her own furniture.”

 

Bucky almost had a hard time reconciling this fact. Tony obviously doted on his dog, giving her treats and constant praise. Sometimes it was hard to believe she even had rules. “Oh.” He pondered it for a moment, then asked, “Wait, she has her own couch?”

 

Tony typically tried not to look too judgmental, but the situation probably warranted it. “She has a dog bed, Bucky. And if I cover the futon, she can lie on that too. But she knows the blanket needs to be on it.”

 

“Oh.” Bucky rubbed the back of his head. That made more sense. “I see.” He looked at Barry. Barry had never really had any rules. Then again, Barry was basically a potato with legs. He’d been told that wasn’t typical of Chinese crested dogs, but he figured it was from having a mostly sedentary owner who just liked to cuddle.

 

He decided to turn his attention to the reason they’d come, grabbing the sweater from the back of the couch. “I know your only request was ‘yellow,’ so I took the liberty of adding a fun little intarsia edging to it to break up the monotony. I hope that’s okay.”

 

Tony held the sweater up and gasped softly. “You put little radiation symbols on it! That’s so cute! Because of her name, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted, unable to help feeling a little shy. He’d wanted so badly for Tony to like it. “I thought it would be fun.”

 

“Idiots are going to think I have a radioactive dog,” Tony said gleefully. “I love it! Marie Curie, come here! Come here, precious!”

 

Marie Curie looked slightly put out that they’d let her lie down when Tony was just going to get her up again, but she obediently got to her feet and came over to him. Bucky couldn’t blame her, really. If Tony called  _ him _ ‘precious,’ he’d get right up too.

 

“Isn’t this the most darling thing you’ve ever seen,” Tony gasped once he’d settled the sweater on her. “Mama is just going to die. Look how adorable you are! The yellow goes nicely with your eyes. We made a good choice with that.”

 

Bucky couldn’t help but be a little enamored. So many people had only thanked him for his hard work. Here Tony was, praising his dog for looking cute like she was a person who understood. It was… kind of heartwarming really. “I guess I don’t have to worry about whether you’re just saying that to spare my feelings.”

 

Tony did not turn away from trying to take the perfect picture on his phone. “Huh?”

 

“I made a sweater for Mochi once and Steve said it was great and then never looked at it again,” Bucky admitted. He wasn’t mad about it, necessarily; he just wished he hadn’t wasted time on it.

 

“Oh, Steve said Mochi loved his sweater, but Chewie destroyed it when he left it on front table,” Tony said, frowning down at his phone. “He figured you might not want him to have another one if he couldn’t take care of the first one, so he hasn’t said anything, and Natasha felt so bad that it was her dog that chewed it up that she doesn’t want to say anything either.”

 

Bucky stared at him. “Why wouldn’t they tell me that? —Because they’re idiots. God. Well, I’m glad you like Marie Curie’s sweater and I hope you both get a lot of use out of it. Please have a donut.”

 

“Okay,” Tony answered, then looked up from his phone, still frowning. “Wait, what?”

 

“I’m not just gonna sit here and eat ten donuts,” Bucky scoffed. He omitted the fact that if Tony didn’t help him, he absolutely would sit down and eat ten donuts. He did not want to do that. He knew he’d feel crummy afterward.

 

“Oh. Well, I suppose I could,” Tony said, looking incredibly bashful.

 

An incredibly bashful Tony was cute. Bucky sort of wanted to pinch his cheeks. “You wanna watch some murder mysteries with me?” he offered, instead of doing that. “All you need to know is the main character is a very beautiful and very sexually free lady in the nineteen-twenties.”

 

“I love very beautiful and very sexually free ladies in the nineteen-twenties,” Tony said, opening the box and picking out a truly decadent-looking donut with gooey pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles. “Do you have any napkins?”

 

Bucky paused, hand halfway toward a jelly donut. Did he have napkins? He was pretty sure if he told Tony to just wipe his hands on the couch, Tony would leave and never come back. He glanced over at his kitchen. “I’ve got… paper towels?”

 

“Oh, that’s fine,” Tony said, and Bucky almost whimpered when he saw a smudge of icing at the corner of his mouth.

 

Natasha was right. He really did need to think about what he wanted to do about his feelings for Tony.

 

But right now, he was going to sit on the couch cuddling with Barry and watch the beautifully dressed woman get her painting back and maybe press his thigh against Tony’s.

 

Tony’s thigh was very warm. Bucky tried not to think about it too much after Tony and Marie Curie left, and mostly failed.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Tony brought him donuts every week during the winter. He said it was so Bucky would let him in to watch murder mysteries with him, but Bucky would have done it without donuts. He was pretty sure Tony just got donuts because  _ he _ wanted them and thought it was rude to not bring any for him. He always ate at least two of the ones with pink frosting.

 

Bucky made Marie Curie another sweater, a nice, warm brown with green stripes. Tony looked like he might cry again. Luckily he did not.

 

“I’m going back to California after New Years,” Tony admitted softly after a lady had finished begging for a British detective’s help in reclaiming a stolen letter.

 

Bucky felt as if the air had been punched out of him. “Oh.”

 

“I was only here to do a show and then get some work done for my dad, visit my mom,” Tony added, looking down at his lap, where he was anxiously wringing his hands. “And then my P.A. insisted I use some of my saved vacation time. I’ve had a really fun time with all of you. I kind of don’t want to go. But I know I need to. My job won’t wait forever and I know Marie Curie misses California.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said again, at a loss for anything else. Tony was leaving. He didn’t know what to do with that. He’d just sort of expected Tony to always be there, once he’d settled into their friend group. What a fool he’d been. It wasn’t like Tony had made it any secret that he was visiting from California, after all. He talked about it all the time.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said miserably.

 

Bucky stared at him, aghast. “You don’t have to be sorry, Tony. It’s not like you’re going off to the gallows or anything. We can still text and email.”

 

“Yeah, but it won’t be the same,” Tony said, slowly ripping his napkin up into tiny pieces, frowning. “I like being able to see you. All of you,” he added quickly. “It’s been good for Marie Curie. And it’s been good for me too.”

 

“It’s nice to hear that,” Bucky said after a moment, because it was, and decided not to read into the hurried ‘all of you’ just this once.

 

Tony had been just as nervous and shy when they’d first met as Marie Curie had been; he’d just been better at hiding it with bluster and flash. Both he and his dog had bloomed like flowers over the summer, once they’d realized they were liked and their company appreciated. Janet had explained it best, once, when Tony had been running late, how Tony had always been sensitive, wanting so badly to be liked after being told he was too much as a child. He’d been so incredibly brave, she’d said, agreeing to meet with her at the dog park and then choosing not to leave when he realized she wouldn’t be coming.

 

“We’ll still be friends,” Bucky assured him, and his heart hurt with the way Tony’s shoulders suddenly relaxed, as if he’d been afraid that their friendship was contingent on proximity.

 

Bucky had lost a lot of friends after joining the army, had lost a lot more after the accident. He couldn’t afford to lose any just because of something as stupid as someone moving. It’s not like Tony wasn’t a plane ride away.

 

Bucky reached out to put his hand over Tony’s. “Hell, I have PTO now. If you’re okay with it, me an’ Barry ‘ll come visit.”

 

“I’d like that,” Tony said, smiling shyly up at him through his lashes. “I’ll take you guys to get the best tacos in the country.”

 

It was a moment. Bucky had a chance to make it something more.

 

He decided against it, considering how upset Tony had been to leave his friends. It would be mean to take a chance, become something more, and have Tony leave still. Instead he just held Tony’s hand. Tony gripped back tightly, so he wasn’t too disappointed in himself for not doing anything.

 

The moment was broken when Barry sneezed himself off the couch anyway.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Spring finally came, and with it, somehow, were plane tickets for _all of them_ to come visit Tony’s beach house in Malibu.

 

Tony’s  _ beach house _ . In  _ Malibu _ .

 

“It’s just a house,” Tony explained in exasperation as they gaped up at it, and then at the view, and then back at the…  _ very large house _ . “It’s nothing like my parents’ mansion in New York.”

 

“What is it that you say you do, again?” Clint asked weakly.

 

Tony blinked up at him. “I’m an engineer.”

 

“W...what kind of an engineer?” Bucky asked. “Like… mechanical engineer? Electrical? Auto?”

 

Tony stared at them. “Yeah. Oh, and aerospace! My best friend and I just invented a new kind of rocket fuel for NASA!” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Oh, but don’t tell anyone that. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

 

“You invented a new rocket fuel,” Bucky repeated in disbelief.

 

“Yeah, but it really needed to be done anyway,” Tony replied, like it was no big deal.

 

Natasha took a deep breath, then let it back out slowly, closing her eyes. Then she opened them again. “And it’s okay to let the dogs run loose in the house?”

 

Tony nodded. “I don’t keep breakables at dog-height.” He paused, then added, “Actually aside from my dishes I don’t really have any breakables.”

 

It was just as shockingly impressive inside the house as it was on the outside, all clean lines and dark wood and blinding steel. The only reason it looked lived in was, shockingly, the veritable treasure trove of dog toys littered about. There were lots of Kong toys, along with several balls half-filled with kibble. There was also what looked like a stuffed toy shaped like a tree trunk with plush squirrels sticking out of it.

 

Marie Curie was beating the absolute shit out of it, yanking the squirrels out any way she could.

 

“What the fuck is that,” Clint breathed, staring.

 

“It’s her hide-a-squirrel,” Tony explained happily. “It’s a cognitive toy. She loves it. And! It keeps her from chewing on the couch legs!”

 

“Fuck!” Natasha exclaimed as Chewie dragged her over the floor to pounce on a plush toy shaped like a taco.

 

The others took this as a cue and released their dogs. None of them were as big as Chewie, but they also didn’t want to take a chance. They converged on the play area like it was the last thing they’d ever get to do, even Barry, who did not play much beyond some light fetch.

 

“It’s a shame you guys couldn’t come in September,” Tony said. “You could have come and watched us surf! And the food trucks are amazing!”

 

“Wait, you weren’t actually joking when you said you taught your dog to surf?” Steve sputtered.

 

Tony frowned at him. “Why would I joke about something so easy to disprove? Anyway, we usually get pretty good scores! We’re not very good at making friends but she’s really good at surfing!”

 

Steve glanced at the rest of them before looking back at Tony and drawling, “Yeah, you’re just awful at making friends.”

 

“You say that, but up until this past summer, I’ve had like… three friends,” Tony said, turning to lead them to the rooms they’d be staying in. He looked over his shoulder at them, explaining, “I was secretly just as nervous as Marie Curie that first day in the dog park when I realized Jan wasn’t there.”

 

He could never know that Janet had already told them that, they decided.

 

“Well, you fooled me. I never would have guessed that you were nervous,” Bucky said kindly, and his heart flipped over when Tony gave him the sweetest smile in response.

 

“That’s because you didn’t see him before he saw Chewie and started crying,” Natasha whispered behind him.

 

Bucky turned to stick his tongue out at her. She jabbed at his ribs and missed when he tripped her. He wasn’t sorry for it even as Steve squawked about them being immature.

 

He’d missed the way Tony laughed while he was gone.

 

.-.-.-.

 

It was nice, visiting Tony. The food was excellent, and Tony was right about the tacos—they’d never tasted anything as good as the tiny food truck’s. Tony took them other places too, little holes in the wall where the tables were crammed together so tight that everyone was bumping knees and elbows, or hipster places where everything on the menu included avocado and quinoa, or dog-friendly places, where you could order plates of food for your canine companion.

 

Tony knew all of the good beaches, too.

 

“A lot of people try to cut off access because they think the entire beach should be their property, not just the high tide line, but I know my rights,” Tony said. “Anything up to high tide line!”

 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Bucky said, watching Barry roll around in the sand, granules sticking wherever the sunscreen wasn’t quite rubbed in.

 

He wished  _ he _ could feel that comfortable. But the sand could damage his prosthetic, and it was too warm to comfortably wear a jacket or long-sleeved shirt, and everyone had given him sad eyes when he’d tried to put one on anyway. At least at the apartment, he could cover up the mess that was what was left of his shoulder with something. Here, it was totally on display, all puckered scar tissue and bruised skin from the prosthetic.

 

Luckily, Tony hadn’t given it more than a cursory glance, taking stock much like he had when he’d asked if any of them needed extra pillows, or if Clint wanted more whole wheat waffles, or whether Barry was warm enough or Chewie was cool enough. He was only checking to see whether there was anything to offer to his guest like a good host. It made Bucky feel a little at ease, knowing that Tony apparently didn’t care beyond ‘should I offer to help with sunscreen or would he find that rude.’

 

“Surprised you didn’t bring out a surfboard to show us a thing or two,” Bucky said, shrugging his shoulder once to stretch it.

 

“I thought about it,” Tony admitted. “But the salt water is bad for Marie Curie’s fur and we have a show next month.”

 

Bucky turned to give Tony his full attention. “You’re really neat, you know that?” He was glad he’d turned, because he had the joy of watching the smaller man’s face turn from pink to tomato-red. “No one ever tell you you’re neat before?”

 

“N-not really,” Tony admitted, scratching the back of his head and looking anywhere but at him. He finally settled on watching Clint and Lucky attempting to wrestle their frisbee away from Mochi, who apparently enjoyed bullying both of them because they were so easygoing. “I mean… I’m just me. I’m basically a garage gremlin except when I can be assed to wash me and my dog up for a show.”

 

Bucky tilted his head. “Yeah, but you also take Marie Curie’s health very seriously. You make sure she’s always occupied, never bored. You got offended when we even made noise about getting a hotel because you’d always intended to open up your house to us, and when we get here you tell us you’ve invented a new rocket fuel. And you bring me fancy donuts and watch murder mysteries with me when it’s too cold for me to go out.”

 

“W-well,” Tony stuttered, looking a bit panicked, and continued to not look at him, instead laser-focusing on Natasha tackling Steve into the ocean. “Well! It’s!” His voice was steadily rising in pitch. “It’s no big deal! We’re friends! Friends are nice to each other? And! I like donuts! I like donuts more than I like anybody! You’re not special!”

 

Bucky wasn’t offended, because Tony looked like he was about ready to vibrate out of his skin. “Kinda thought I was. Special, that is,” he added so Tony would be certain. “Nat says I’m the only one you buy fancy donuts for.”

 

“I buy everyone a special thing they like!” Tony squeaked, appearing one second away from darting straight into the ocean and never returning.

 

“I didn’t like the donuts,” Bucky said.

 

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment, he finally turned, looking up at him with the deepest look of confusion and, perhaps, some hurt. “You didn’t like the donuts?” he asked, sounding incredibly mournful, as if Bucky was a harlequin heroine and had just admitted he had consumption, not a disliking of a certain brand of donuts.

 

“I mean, they were okay,” Bucky allowed. They were donuts, and he wasn't picky. “But it wasn’t really the donuts I liked. The part I actually liked was sitting on the couch with you, watching shitty murder mysteries. I liked it when you rolled my yarn into balls for me so I didn’t have to worry about it later. I liked watching Marie Curie and Barry cuddle together next to the radiator and listening to you complain about how inefficient radiators were in this day and age. It wasn’t the donuts I liked, Tony. It was spending time with you. Alone.”

 

Tony stared up at him, mouth opened in an adorable little ‘o’ of surprise as he processed what he’d been told.

 

Bucky waited patiently for the first couple of minutes, but Tony showed no signs of speaking, so he added, “Because I like you. Like… more than a friend. If that’s okay. It’s okay if it’s not, too. I can handle just being your friend. I just thought I’d lay it all out for you to decide what to do with it.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said, like it had been punched out of him, and then, “I think… I think I need time? To consider this. Properly.”

 

“That’s fine,” Bucky replied. “And if you decide you don’t want to do anything at all with that information? That’s okay, too. I just wanted to put it out there.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said. He looked up at Bucky wonderingly, then looked away again, blushing a little. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, and walked over to tap Barry with his foot when he noticed him investigating a pile of seaweed a little too curiously. “Don’t eat that.”

 

Barry gave him a look of greatest contempt before trotting off to a different pile of seaweed. Bucky seriously considered letting him eat it just so he could learn from being sick, but Barry was an idiot and rarely learned anything.

 

“Wait, so you really didn’t like the donuts?” Tony asked suddenly, still looking incredibly concerned about that particular fact.

 

Bucky sighed. “Tony, the donuts were fine. I like most donuts. I was just trying to make a point.”

 

“Are you sure?” Tony asked skeptically.

 

“Tony,” Bucky said, and then yelped when he saw Barry grabbing a mouthful of seaweed and running. “BARRY!”

 

Clint and Steve eventually caught Barry and pulled the seaweed out of his mouth, but not before Bucky had tripped over some driftwood and face-planted into the sand. Natasha got pictures of it.

 

Life was never fair, Bucky lamented. For a moment he’d felt really cool. He supposed he should have known better. Nothing about him had been cool for a long time.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Three days later, Tony sent the others to something called ‘Yoga and Mimosas’ so they could have some alone time. Tony made mimosas so Bucky ‘wouldn’t feel left out.’

 

“I have better sparkling wine than where they’re going anyway,” Tony explained, handing Bucky a champagne flute that was probably worth more than one month of his rent. He plopped down on the couch beside him, winced, and pulled a Kong toy out from under him, tossing it onto the floor. “Also!” he added brightly. “It’s not as fun as the yoga class that Marie Curie and I go to.”

 

“You go to a yoga class with your dog?” Bucky asked in surprise, before he could stop himself.

 

Tony blinked at him. “I’m a rich white man, Bucky. I do tons of pretentious shit unironically. I’ve planned an outing to a  _ wine safari _ for all of us tomorrow. Taking Marie Curie to Doga shouldn’t be too bizarre.”

 

“It’s called ‘ _ Doga _ ?’” Bucky asked, appalled.

 

Tony opened his mouth, closed it in thought, then let out a reluctant little laugh. “Okay, yeah that’s pretty bad.” He leaned over to bump shoulders with him good-naturedly. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though.”

 

Bucky allowed himself one more moment to boggle over dog yoga being a thing, having a name, and Tony and his dog participating in it, then gave himself a little shake, setting it aside. Tony hadn’t manufactured a moment for them to be alone just to talk about… dog yoga. “It’s not… bad,” he managed, just to make sure Tony knew, but wasn’t quite certain if he pulled off ‘sincerity’ very well.

 

Tony seemed to accept it in the spirit it was given, offering another small laugh.

 

They sat like that for a while, just enjoying each others’ company, sipping on their mimosas and watching as Barry tried to figure out how to steal Marie Curie’s food from her cognitive toys and failed. It was nice. It was almost like being back in New York on a cold Saturday. Bucky missed those days a lot more than he’d ever admit.

 

“I like you too,” Tony admitted after another minute, so quietly that Bucky almost didn’t hear him.

 

“What,” Bucky asked, turning toward him. “What did you say?”

 

Tony blushed and looked anywhere but at him, scratching his neck idly. It was unbearably cute. Bucky wished he could capture the moment forever.

 

Tony swallowed thickly before letting out a little sigh and setting his glass on the table, turning to face him. “I said, I like you too. I wasn’t just hanging out with you because I like murder mysteries. Even if I didn’t really want to admit it.”

 

Bucky considered this. It was what he’d hoped to hear, and yet… he still felt a little unsettled by the admission. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ here.”

 

Tony dropped his eyes to his lap, frowning. “I… I live here, Bucky. I only ever visit New York. I have no plans of moving back. My parents and I get along now, but… that’s only because I live here, far enough away that our visits are planned weeks in advance. I wasn’t lying when I said I was only in New York so long because I was doing some work for my dad. I don’t hate New York, I just… I just like California better.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said. The thought had honestly never occurred to him. Tony had said he was only in New York on business and vacation, but it hadn’t really sunk in that it had been a choice he’d made to come instead of staying home where he liked it. He really should have given that comment more consideration.

 

“And I don’t… I don’t know if long distance is a thing I can do,” Tony admitted, beginning to wring his hands together. “At least not without a definite timeline. And I don’t think it’s fair to go into this knowing I have no intention of moving back to New York, because I feel like that just sort of unilaterally decides that you’d eventually move here. That’s not fair to you. That’s the only home you’ve ever known, and you’ve never made any mention of moving away. So…” he gestured helplessly. “So that’s where I’m at. I figured if you could put all your cards on the table, I could put down mine.”

 

Bucky set his drink aside and reached out for one of Tony’s extended hands, giving it the softest of squeezes. “Hey.”

 

Tony stared at their hands, then peeked up at him through his lashes, bashful. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Bucky repeated helplessly, and leaned in to press their foreheads together, sighing softly when Tony’s eyes fluttered shut in response, not in fear or anything like it, but just to absorb the moment. “I can’t say I thought that far ahead,” he admitted softly, and the smaller man let out a breath—something that could have been a laugh  _ or _ a sob. The corner of Bucky’s mouth curled up into a rueful smile. “I mean, I kinda never thought you’d return my feelings anyway, so it’s nice, that I get to think about it. But… I mean, do we have to? Think about it, I mean.”

 

Tony leaned back, frowning a little, and turned his gaze back on his lap. “I just… I don’t think it’s fair to you, Bucky.”

 

“What’s not fair about it?” Bucky asked, and then charged on when he saw Tony opening his mouth, probably to explain in excruciating detail why it wasn’t fair. “How about this. We try out long distance until I can give you an answer. And if that answer is that I can’t leave New York? We could go back to just being friends. I just. I’d just like to be able to have you any way I can, even if it’s not the way I’d like.”

 

“...I just don’t want to waste our time,” Tony admitted, voice small.

 

“Tony,” Bucky said. “I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but rest assured, any minute I spend with you is never wasted, regardless of how our relationship is defined.”

 

Tony jerked back as if he’d been struck, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

Then they went dewy in that familiar way that had Bucky pulling him in. “C’mon, doll. You don’t cry over human things. You just cry over dogs. Remember how much you cried when I finally braved the cold to go to the dog park once and you saw Barry’s winter outfit?”

 

“The shoes went up to his knees,” Tony whimpered. “And tucked into the legs of his sweater. I don’t understand why no one else cried.”

 

“Everyone else is used to Barry in his sweater and boots,” Bucky reasoned.

 

“He wore a hat!” Tony wailed. “That you made for him! With little pom poms!”

 

“It was a snood,” Bucky corrected, patting him gently on the back.

 

“Your dog is so ugly but you dress him up so cute,” Tony sobbed.

 

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, well. He’s naked, so.”

 

“I love him,” Tony sobbed.

 

“Okay,” Bucky said, smiling, too charmed to be upset. This was why he’d started falling for Tony, after all—because he was unashamed of how much he loved dogs. Everything after that had mostly just been a bonus.

 

.-.-.-.

 

The wine safari was real. Bucky and the others had thought it was a  _ joke _ .

 

Bucky understood why Tony cried all the time when he saw cute dogs, because an alpaca delicately ate a handful of pellets from his hand and he wanted to start bawling.

 

“Maybe next time Sam and Jan and Thor can come,” Tony said, buying them enough magnets and enamel pins to give some to their missing friends.

 

Natasha cupped his cheeks. “Tony. If you bring us here again? I will die.”

 

Tony stared up at her, lips smooshed together adorably. “But you woved Stanwey duh giwaffe.”

 

“I drank so much wine today, Tony,” Natasha said.

 

Steve gently pried her off. “Okay, let’s stop drunkenly harassing Tony.”

 

“...How did she get so much wine?” Tony asked, bewildered, as Steve gently led her over to the hats.

 

“I don’t like wine and Steve is a sucker for her puppy eyes,” Clint explained. “So she also had ours. It’s okay. She promised to buy Steve his own bottle.”

 

Tony frowned. “Clint, you should have said!”

 

“Tony, it’s fine. I got to feed a giraffe,” Clint told him just a touch snidely.

 

“Well, if you’re sure…” Tony said after a moment.

 

“The giraffe’s name is Stanley, Tony,” Clint said, and then drifted off to look at some shirts.

 

Tony stared after him, looking concerned and, perhaps, a little befuddled.

 

“He’s like that,” Bucky offered, and slid his arm around Tony’s shoulders before he could really think about it, laying his hand on Tony’s opposite shoulder and squeezing gently. “He had fun. Don’t worry about him.” Tony looked up at him in surprise, then turned his head to glance at Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. Bucky was about to pull his arm back and apologize, but stopped when he noticed Tony lifting his own hand.

 

Tony put his hand over Bucky’s and offered him a shy smile. “This is nice.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky choked out, feeling more like it had been punched out of him than him making a choice to say anything. He took a deep breath to try and settle himself, trying again with, “Yeah, it is.”

 

Tony tipped his head back to give him a wider smile, and Bucky thought falling truly in love with Tony would be easier than he’d ever imagined.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Bucky had expected leaving to be harder, and he was simultaneously relieved and concerned that it wasn’t.

 

“I’ll call when we land,” he said, idly rubbing the backs of his fingers back and forth over Tony’s jaw. “Or—if I’m not feeling well, I’ll have someone else call and let me wheeze into the phone for a minute.”

 

“You could just text me,” Tony offered, reaching up to grab his wrist. He used the grip on Bucky’s arm to tip his hand, then tilted his head to press his cheek into Bucky’s palm, rubbing against it like a cat. “I can wait for a phone call until after you’re settled back in.”

 

Bucky curled his fingers into the curls at the back of Tony’s head, scratching his nails lightly along his scalp. “Alright. I’ll try and call anyway, though.”

 

Tony hummed, eyes slowly drifting shut as he pressed further into his hand. “Okay.”

 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Bucky admitted, leaning in to press their foreheads together.

 

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Tony said softly. “But I’ll come visit for the holidays.”

 

Bucky smiled and leaned in a little further to brush noses with him. “I’ll have another sweater made for Marie Curie by then. I was thinking something festive. Holly, maybe.”

 

“She’ll look good in whatever you make for her, Bucky,” Tony told him sincerely, peeling his eyes open to peer up at him through his lashes again.

 

Bucky swallowed thickly and wondered if it would be alright to lean in just that extra little bit. Was it too soon? Was it the wrong time?

 

“Oh my God, just kiss him, you big lummox,” Steve barked, and then yelped when both Natasha and Clint whipped around on him, looking quietly murderous.

 

Bucky and Tony jerked away from each other, embarrassed. Bucky missed the feel of his warm cheek against his hand, but Tony was fidgeting, so he just let his hand drop to his side instead of reaching for him again.

 

Tony bit his bottom lip, then tipped his head up, looking determined. “Well?”

 

“Well, what?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at him, but couldn’t help the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile.

 

“Well aren’t you going to kiss me, you big lummox?” Tony asked, grin cheeky.

 

Bucky laughed and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. “—There! How’s that?” he asked.

 

Tony pouted up at him, scowling a little. “A bit off the mark.”

 

“Oh?” Bucky asked, amused. “And where should it have gone?”

 

Tony mumbled something, embarrassed, and shuffled where he stood for a moment before he went up on his toes and pressed an off-center kiss to Bucky’s bottom lip. Bucky felt the teasing words he’d meant to say die in his throat as his cheeks flushed. Any other words he might have said failed him as well, because he and Tony had been cuddling and hugging the past few days, and once or twice they’d shared a kiss on the cheek or the forehead, but nothing as intimate and silly and public as this was now.

 

Clint let out a wolf-whistle, and the bubble it felt like they were in popped.

 

Tony looked mortified, and he squeaked out a frantic ‘have a good flight!’ before he turned and ran.

 

Bucky stared after him, feeling vaguely like an idiot. Then he just grinned, and didn’t care if he looked like one.

 

“You’ve got it bad,” Natasha teased him when he remembered he had feet and needed to move them.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, deciding not to deny it because it was so obvious. “I am.”

 

.-.-.-.

 

It struck Bucky in the middle of a video call with Tony, eating an early dinner while Tony had a late lunch, the best they could really do to have a meal together these days that wasn’t wildly off either of their schedules.

 

“I miss the tacos from the taco truck,” he said, putting his fork down.

 

Tony looked down at his cheeseburger, then back at the screen, which showed that Bucky was eating fettuccine alfredo.  _ “Okay? We’ll get some the next time you visit.” _

 

“Any jobs for people missing arms where you are?” Bucky asked.

 

Tony frowned at him, brows furrowing together.  _ “Probably? I mean. Isn’t it against the law not to be?” _ he asked, bewildered.

 

“I’m gonna start getting things in order, then,” Bucky decided.

 

_ “Are you okay?” _ Tony asked in concern.  _ “Did the doctor say something?” _

 

Bucky wondered if the stare-down he was giving Tony translated through the camera. “Tony. I want to move to California.”

 

Tony stared back for a while, silent, before managing a bashful,  _ “Oh.” _

 

“To be with you, just to be clear,” Bucky added, just to make sure there was nothing to misconstrue. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw Tony blushing in response.

 

_ “That’s—I thought—Are you sure?” _ he asked, concerned.

 

Bucky was not offended by the second-guessing. It was a big step. Like Tony had said, New York had always been Bucky’s home, even when he’d been off in the army. It was where his parents lived, where his sisters eventually wanted to settle after college and traveling. It was where all of his friends lived. And yeah, California might be a little lonely at first, but… he’d have Tony. He’d have Barry and Marie Curie. And he could… always make new friends. Tony talked about his friends in California all the time, like Rhodey, Jane, Darcy, and Bruce, not to mention his work-colleagues Pepper and Happy.

 

He could probably make a life and be happy there. Besides, Tony said he always visited his parents for the holidays. It’s not like Bucky would never be back to New York.

 

“Yeah,” he said after a little more thought. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

Tony was quiet, considering, before smiling shyly.  _ “Okay. Are—are you moving in with me? Or… or were you planning on getting your own place?” _

 

“I thought I might get my own place, don’t wanna put any pressure on you,” Bucky said. “But, uh—if I could stay with you a couple weeks until I get a job and an apartment set up, that would be…”

 

_ “Of course,” _ Tony exclaimed.  _ “Anything you need! I’m happy to help!” _

 

“Thanks, doll,” Bucky said, smiling. “I appreciate it.”

 

Tony blushed and shuffled a little in his seat, embarrassed.  _ “I like when you call me ‘doll,’” _ he admitted.  _ “Or—any of your pet names, but… that one especially.” _

 

“God, you’re cute,” Bucky sighed, smitten.

 

Tony covered his face in embarrassment, but he didn’t deny it.

 

Bucky saw Marie Curie’s face appear in the corner of the camera while his face was covered. “Tony,” he exclaimed, but it was too late.

 

_ “YOU GARBAGE ANIMAL I SPEND MORE ON YOUR FOOD THAN MINE,” _ Tony bellowed when he saw her snapping at his burger.

 

Marie Curie snatched it, napkin and all, and ran. Tony shouted and chased after her, camera falling on its side.

 

“Okay, guess I’ll just… wait here then,” Bucky said, and then picked up a noodle to feed to Barry while Tony wasn’t there to scold him for giving him people food instead of proper treats.

 

Barry snapped it up and got sauce all over his face. Bucky was glad his camera was shitty because he’d only partly cleaned it off by the time Tony sidled back to his seat and set the camera back up properly, mulishly eating the last quarter of his burger.

 

“At least she didn’t get your fries,” Bucky offered.

 

“Yeah, she doesn’t need the empty carbs,” Tony agreed, giving Marie Curie some incredibly lethal side-eye.

 

Marie Curie licked her chops, unrepentant.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Bucky never actually moved into his own apartment from Tony’s house.

 

That was okay though. He got to wake up early and have a cup of coffee on the beach, Barry strewn across his lap, as he watched Tony and Marie Curie practice surfing. It was just as funny and awesome as he’d imagined. His life was pretty good now, and it was all because he’d adopted Barry.

 

Or, well. Because Barry had adopted him.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky owns a [Chinese crested dog](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_Crested_Dog).
> 
> Tony owns a [poodle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poodle).
> 
> Natasha owns a [Komodor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Komondor).
> 
> Steve owns a [Chiweenie](https://www.dogbreedinfo.com/chiweenie.htm).


End file.
